Katherine Bogden
Back in 2007-8 I had the great pleasure of assisting with the exhibition and catalogue for Over Seven Decades: The Art of Gershon Benjamin. From a research standpoint, this was no small undertaking. Benjamin and his wife Zelda left behind no less than nine boxes of (previously unsorted) archive materials, which included everything from reviews clipped from newspapers and magazines to personal letters, professional correspondence, photographs, sketches, award certificates, legal paperwork—and the list goes on.
Although sorting and organizing this material was a tremendous amount of work it was also immensely rewarding. Besides helping us trace Benjamin’s steps from his time in Canada through his New York years and up until his death in Free Acres, New Jersey in 1985, these documents helped answer our more abstract questions: what went on in the mind of the artist, beyond the brush? Benjamin's letters read like windows through the canvas, giving both tangible evidence of his inspirations (such as the Greek sculptures he discusses below) and what he was after in his work—in Benjamin’s case he was always trying to capture the essence of the object (or as you’ll read in his letter, the “soul”).
I found the letters between Benjamin and Zelda particularly interesting for a number of reasons:
Firstly, they range across his career from before their marriage, when Zelda still lived in Canada, until late in their marriage when they wrote to each other while away—when Zelda traveled with her acting company or Gershon traveled to Gloucester or other places to paint.
Secondly, in many cases because both husband and wife archived so much of their lives we have both Benjamin’s letters to Zelda and Zelda’s letters to Benjamin, providing at times complete conversations.
And lastly, it is in his letters to Zelda that Benjamin often seems the most candid, the most free with his words—and from these we glean what it must have been like to know the artist himself. I’ve selected a single letter from the archive, from the then-young Benjamin, written to Zelda (the letter is addressed to “Hilda Cohen” which was Zelda's name at the time, when she married she dropped "Hilda" and went by her middle name, Zelda), in 1923, just after he reached New York. Zelda had recalled that upon reaching the city Benjamin had immediately stowed his suitcases and headed off to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and this letter gives us no reason to doubt the story.
The artist elaborates a bit here—no doubt to impress his future wife—stating he is sending her sketches of “original sculpture by Michelangelo” (we believe the sketches were actually done from plaster casts of Michelangelo sculptures which are part of the Museum’s permanent collection).
Below is an excerpt from the letter (I’ve corrected his spelling):
Just a few studies I made during my visit to the “Metropolitan Museum of Art.” They are all from original sculptures by “Michelangelo.” One is a study of a statue or rather one of his many slaves! It depicts a young person in a strange struggle for freedom from what we do not know, his arms are free—only a thin lace encircling his body is seen. It is to me one of the most tragic figures in the whole of the Museum and impressed me most.
The strange part about it, is, when first you look at it, it appears to be a woman—only after a close examination you notice it is a figure of a male strong and powerful! The whole thing has a monumental feeling—with a great symbol behind it—it is to the internal meaning of life—it carries with it all the softness and hardness. There seems to be two strange beings struggling with each other like monsters they want to devour each other, it is the two natures in the human being that the Greek Artist wished to portray—it is to me the most beautiful work of art my eyes have yet seen….
And later:
Darling Zelda I could not help think of you when I did those sketches they are really yours for you…you were in my mind—strange is it not dear Zelda that when I was most thrilled looking at these [illegible] works of art, I seemed to see your face continually. A close resemblance to you, seemed very obvious in all the Greek sculpture—the same youthfulness, nimble body—boyish charm. With it all you see in the whole ensemble a great tragedy—their faces always carry a sad note—that note is the symbol of their soul—that note is also your soul.
Gershon
Thursday August 9/1923
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